


The Results of a Bad Week.

by Han502653



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: F/M, Gen, Klaus is in trouble, Some Skiff, Zanta gets mad, Zeetha really isn't much more than a sleeping prop in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6022728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Han502653/pseuds/Han502653
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight, Klaus first reaction, when opening his door to find Zanta glaring at him from his desk, probably shouldn’t have been to blurt out, “you cut your hair!?”<br/>It should have been something like: “Why are you here?” or “How are you here?” or even just a surprised “Zanta!!” Anything else would have been better.<br/>Zanta’s piercing stare narrowed. “I fixed the Mirror.”<br/>Well… that at least answered one of his should have been questions.<br/>“You sit down,” she continued. “We need to speak.”<br/>For the first time in a long time Klaus swallowed back nerves and nodded obediently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zanta has a bad week

Zanta had a bad week; a long, stressful, exhausting week. She had been forced to leave her Zumil behind to attend to a problem in Homa, one of the Dark Countries. While there she had to deal with rotating attacks in the middle of the night, and happy ambassadors that swore that they were rebels during the day. “Truly, my Queen,” they simpered. “We want nothing but peace, which is why we need your help in shutting down these rebels.” She wasn’t so easily fooled.

Then she had returned to find her little Zumi had been attacked while she was gone. Parental pride in how well she had held them off, until Nod could save her, was not enough to stop the clinging thoughts of: _Almost, almost_. Didn’t change the fact she hadn’t been there.

She had found her daughter asleep on her bed, behind solemn and mute guards, arm tightly bandaged. The stuffed animal she had thrown away in anger at four, after her cousins had convinced her that her father had abandoned her for the same reasons they leered, tightly held in her arms. The same stitched and patched rabbit Zanta had quietly saved and hid in her room.

There had been tears dried on her cheeks.

Holding her tightly, being given the honor of presenting her swords to her for her bravery and skill, it should have made things better. If not, only hours later, she hadn’t gone on a desperate search to find her child sobbing in a small alcove under a staircase. Her swords were missing, stolen by an older cousin, the stitched up rabbit clutched in her hands.

“I should have died,” she had muttered into her mother’s shoulder. Of the many things they had jeered to her that had been the topper.

Zanta had been furious, and even hurt as she was, Zeetha saw that and refused to give names. Later Zanta would admit that had been for the best. Who knows what she may have done.

Instead she had carried her child, who had out of exhaustion and drugs collapsed, to the top of the great tower, and to her lab. She had carefully set her on a chair behind the blast shield Chump had created for her so many years ago, safe from her fury, before she had thrown herself into work.

As War Queen Zanta couldn’t just let herself fall into a fugue whenever she felt like it. While it wasn’t so easy to just say she had control over it, pre-planning days where she could go all out, and having a plan to what she wanted to do, curbed it enough that she could seem like she was. That she could keep the chaos and danger low.

Tonight was not one of those nights. Tonight she had no plan. Tonight she was _furious._

She was furious with the Priestesses, since she knew full well who had sent those assassins. She was furious with Nod, who hadn’t see it coming, though that was his _job_ , and had suddenly been drowning in other work, leaving Zeetha to wander freely. As he had told her the news at the entrance hall of the palace, his own face one of misery, she had wanted to slap him as much as she did hug him. Hugging had won out in the end because her baby was alive and even still now, _almost, almost_ ran through her head.

She was furious at her sisters for not taking up the slack. She was furious at her mother for her disapproving glance and inability to even seem relieved that her granddaughter lived.

She was furious at herself for not being there. For leaving her Zumil behind even if she would have been no safer.

But mostly, as her maddened mind latched onto, she was furious with that cowardly, idiotic, weakling Chump. Furious that as she carried her daughter she had muttered, while playing with the stuffed animal’s ear, “I wished I had a father.” Furious that he hadn’t been there when she could not. Furious that he had stolen her baby boy, with his nearly bald head and his chubby little toes, from her. Furious that she didn’t even know if her child even still lived, or if he had died in the surly hostile wilds Chump had dragged him into to get to where ever he was going. His Europa she assumed. Furious that she couldn’t even be sure of what was his name.

Furious with herself that, despite everything, she still missed him horribly. That even now the chair next to her in the meal hall remained empty, that she still found herself fingering her bonded mark, that even her hair stayed short out of practicality and no longer spite. That she craved his touch and his laugh. That at times her dreams were not of her son’s death, but of his.

But most of all she was furious that somehow that _Indim_ had assumed that his Europa idiom, “out of sight out of mind” would still apply. Furious that he thought that taking one twin would make life easier for the other. She highly doubted that things would have been much worse, if at all, if both twins had stayed. In the naysayers’ eyes a notwan, and how she loathed that word, was still a notwan no matter how far the two were separated. Distance didn’t matter, they were still unwhole. All he had done was separate their forces, their ability to protect their children. That to assure safety for one he had left the other even more exposed.

If he had stayed they would have been able to watch their children together. If he had stayed, on the days and weeks her queenship demanded her in dangerous worlds unsuited for children, they would have a protector. One who did not have other duties to pull away their focus. Whose only other duty, the spreading of knowledge, in his case the language of Romanian during the few years she had him, would have him right there with the children already. A protector with the title of Djorok'ku, a sword master with the skills to back it up.

The two of them would have been able to stand firm together. They would have been able to, slowly perhaps, as the earth moves, change the people’s belief, but change it they would have. They would have been able to give their children a world they deserved to have. As is, his fleeing had only made things worse.

If he had stayed their daughter wouldn’t feel abandoned by her father, for whatever reasons. If he had stayed her son wouldn’t be growing up without his mother.

If he had stayed she wouldn’t be so tired. So stretched thin. She wouldn’t have to make choices that pulled her time away from her daughter, her little zumi, who had so few others to turn to. She wouldn’t have to feel like such a horrible mother.

Zeetha made a little noise, far too much like a whimper. Zanta’s thought process crashed and she spun wildly. She stared unsurely at the stairs the arched up over the entrance, that led to the once storage space and now training room and safe observation spot for Zeetha. She stared, her blood pounding in her ears, her body trembling as fight and flight battled, but freeze ultimately won. When Zeetha didn’t make any more noise, Zanta collapsed back on the chair behind her, hid her face in her hand, and realized that she wasn’t even entirely sure Zeetha had made a noise in the first place.

She hadn’t been okay. Wasn’t okay still, she admitted as her body trembled, but she was coming back down. Her thoughts had captured her so thoroughly that she was entirely blank on what her gift had been doing with her body at the time. She could have been doing anything, something dangerous, something that could hurt her daughter. The shield could only do so much.

She didn’t dare look behind her in case the gift took back over. She didn’t smell smoke or gas, it probably wasn’t explosive, so she didn’t think what was there was anything immediately concerning.

Instead she just breathed, breathed until her heart slowed, her breathe settled, and her stomach caught up, having been left at that staircase floors below.

Just as she was finally beginning to feel real, someone knocked on the door. She peered at it exhaustedly. It wasn’t the knock that her siblings knew, even Zar who she had never been close to, who had been a warrior before her birth. She had no desire to talk to anyone, let alone someone not them. If it was truly important Nod would have come, or a messenger using the urgent knock all warriors knew.

Through something about the knock was bothering her, and it took a disquieting long time for her brain to realize what it was. Not only was the knock hesitant and uncertain, but it was coming from far lower on the door than she was used to.

Curiosity was a powerful motivator and Zanta pulled herself to her feet and opened the door.

She found her niece and nephew, Zemar’s children, Zed and Zedmara standing there. They were far closer to terrified than Zanta would like. Though she _had_ just stalked through the palace in a full on madness, so she could only respect their bravery in being here at all. Yet even in their fear they stood tall when they saw her.

“We got them back,” Zedmara said. And Zanta’s eyes widened as she belatedly saw the training swords Zeetha had been ceremonially presented with until her arm healed and proper swords could be made. “Sorry it took so long we had to stake out—” She let out a squeak, as did her brother, as Zanta collapsed to her knees and pulled them into a hug.

She had always been so thankful for these two. They had stood by her daughter since they had met for the first time as little babies in the council room. Their mother too she was so thankful for, Zemar of all her sisters had always watched her back and supported her.

She didn’t believe one ounce of the notwan nonsense and had made sure her children didn’t either. Where most mothers had held their babies to their laps or notably placed them to play on the other side of the room, Zemar had always set hers right next to Zeetha, and gave blank stares to the ones who didn’t.

Even Zoni had her concerns at first, even as she didn’t stop her daughter from befriending Zeetha. Those quite concerns had lasted up to the days after Zoniax’s death. To the day she had pulled Zeetha aside to assure her it wasn’t her fault Zoniax had passed. To the day Zeetha had stared up at her solemnly and said “If that’s true, it’s not your fault either.” To the day a seven year old’s words finally allowed her to breakdown and mourn.

She had later presented her with a gift, a hunter’s knife, used more for skinning than fighting though a good warrior knew the tricks to make it work. In Skifander gifts were uncommonly given. One either was given things they needed by parents, such as food, clothes, toys for the very young, or they earned it through working. A gift was a great honor. The knife had been very well made. It also had been blunt, for Zeetha to decide when she was ready for it to be sharp.

Zeetha still hadn’t.

Zar, her oldest sister? She would scold her children for bullying but make no mention on notwans one way or another. Her neutrality was painful, but it was better than it could be.

She could feel how stiff the children’s shoulders were and so Zanta pulled back, feeling a little silly, and perhaps a little sad that was their reaction. That feeling died as she took the two in. Zedmara had a blackened eye and Zed had several scratches. She frowned in concern, a frown so motherly that, while still a little weirded out, the two relaxed.

“What happened,” she demanded, anger tinging her tone, her eyes narrowing. The two shifted but could tell it wasn’t directed at them. Their aunt’s hands were gentle on their shoulders, and her stance protective.

“We heard some of the older kids gossiping about how someone stole Zeetha’s swords,” Zedmara started. Her features trembling in tiny fury as she recalled, “they were also saying a lot of really mean stuff. Like, ’she doesn’t deserve them if she can’t protect them’ which isn’t fair, they’re all novices, some of them are _really_ old novices.”

Zanta’s lip curled. Novices? Over eleven then, most over twelve. Really old? That would mean fourteen and fifteen year olds, all coming together to mock and hurt her little girl, and all old enough that they should know better.

Zed nodded so furiously to his sister’s words that Zanta worried he would strain his neck. “Yeah!” His voice was full of disgruntlement at the unfairness of it all. “But they didn’t say who had done it so we stalked them for a while ‘cause we couldn’t ask since…” his voice fell until it was a mummer. “They know we are friends with her so sometimes… they’re not all that nice.”

Zanta’s eyes dropped at the understatement of what her zumi and those that stood by her faced. They were just children, they didn’t deserve any of this.

 “But that doesn’t matter anyway because they're all stupid.” Zedmara said with conviction, sensing Zanta’s change in mood. “So anyway, we stalked them until we learned who had done it and where it was—”

“Naapta and Noran and in Naapta’s room,” Zed supplied with just a bit of malice.

Zanta’s face clouded as she heard that. They were distant family. Both were fourteen, half-sisters with the same father, a man of the Lukan family, the Priestess’ family, who still traveled there most days to work.

“—So we had to wait until we could sneak into their room unnoticed, but we took so long finding it that they came back and saw us leaving—”

“—And so they chased us for a while and we got kinda beat up getting away—”

“—Yeah! Zed almost got stung by a campfire scorpion while hiding under a staircase—”

“—I’m pretty sure that was a red-bellied scorpion,” Zed corrected.

It didn’t matter, both of them would have killed a child their size. The responsible, queenly side of Zanta automatically asked, “Which staircase?” While the other, greater half battled between what to do with her new knowledge. She couldn’t so easily punish novices like she wanted to. And the memory of finding her four year old asleep under a staircase, with a tear stained face, her stuffed rabbit across the room with a large rip, and a nuisance spider settled across her stomach. For an adult it was what it was called, a nuisance, for someone a tiny as her little slip of a girl, it was a killer.

They told her, she noted mentally to set a work order to have both staircases fumigated and enclosed. Most already were due to the danger of Skifander’s fauna, but some had escaped notice, and stood open.

“Can we see Zeetha?” Zedmara asked quickly as it seemed they would be dismissed. Zanta blinked but softened at their concerned looks.

“You can, but she’s sleeping. You let her sleep.”

They didn’t need any more encouragement, sprinting past her and up the curved stairs. Zanta stared after them fondly, and once they were safely behind the blast shield, finally returned to her work table. The distraction of the children had finally put her back to right, angry, frustrated right, but right. And now she really needed to see to what her gift had created without her say, and disarm it if she needed to.

She didn’t expect for it to not be a physical object, but a blueprint.

She didn’t expect to recognize what she was looking at, either.

“Zed! Zedmara!” Zanta called out, madness taking her fully and at once, and it showed in her tone. “I need you to carry some things.”

 

Zanta carried her daughter on her hip, and a box of material in her arm. Behind her Zed lugged a three foot tall statue, a replica of the ones that dotted Skifander, while his sister heaved a heavy bag of tools.  They stuck to side routes, and it was late, very late, enough that they only ran into a couple of servants as they approached their destination.

Zed and Zedmara shared a concerned glance as they turned into the long corridor that led to the Queens’ Hall. It was set deep under the exact center of Skifander, connected to all the palaces, and was where the three Queens’ true thrones stood. They were uncomfortable following a gifted consumed by their gift, but like Zanta they didn’t want to leave Zeetha alone, and so they followed loyally.

And anyway, their queen may have been mad, but she was nice. When Zed had begun to lag behind she had slowed. She didn’t look happy about having to, but she hadn’t looked angry either, so most of their worries eased. It was still concerning, but they were pretty sure they wouldn’t be hurt, or Zeetha for that matter. Plus it was a good distraction for the fact their mother was probably looking for them for a scolding. Working with the Queen would get them out of that, right?

 

Her mind was still clouded with gift as she backed away from her work. Luhia’s Mirror was glowing for the first time since that crazy woman had sent through Chump. She smiled wildly and checked the controls. They had frozen after Chump’s arrival, set to the portal he had been thrown into. It was done.

She turned back to her sleeping daughter on her throne, and Zeetha’s two cousins who hadn’t left. She had thought they would, she hadn’t asked of any more from them. But instead they sat, one on each armrests, as if guarding her.

Some of her madness was dashed away as she smiled fondly at the three. Despite everything, her daughter had found loyal friends. Friends who would take on much older and much better trained cousins to find her swords. Friends who would risk entering a furious and gifted queen’s lair to return them. Friends who would sit for hours, guarding her when she couldn’t do it herself. Friends who were doing all this, likely without their mother’s knowledge and at risk of her ire, a little voice said past the madness. Zemar wouldn’t wish them so close to her like this, and she was sure to be looking for them now. She needed to send them back to her, motherly panic she knew well and wished on no one.

She grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote a long note, front and back, for them to pass to Zemar. In it she wrote many things as they came to mind. The orders to close up the staircases. A description of what Zemar’s children had done.  She hoped Zemar wouldn’t be able to be too harsh on them. After all they did, they didn’t deserve that. But most of her letter went to explaining her actions and a promise to be back soon. She looked through it quickly to make sure it made sense, part of her brain wondering why her handwriting was always so much better when mad, and then walked over to her throne to pass it to the children.

“I need you to deliver this to your mother,” She said and they started from their half-asleep guard. Zedmara looked around warily as if for a threat while Zed made a face. He took the letter and stared down at it.

“Mom’s gunna be _so_ mad,” he muttered sleepily. Zedmara beside him started again at the idea and made her own face.

“In it I’ve asked her to be kind to you,” Zanta said with twitching lips as she crouched down to take a look at the stature at the foot of the throne. “I truly do appreciate what you have done for my daughter, all of it.”

The two looked almost uncomfortable at the praise as Zanta easily lifted the stature and pulled it around her throne. She set it right behind and faced it towards the Mirror that loomed over them.

Zedmara, completely unconcerned that she was on the true War Throne, climbed up to her feet, and by standing on the armrest, peered over the back. Her eyes widened.

“The Mirror is _glowing_ ,” she said. “Since when did it do _that?_ ”

“Since I fixed it,” Zanta mused with a mad fueled grin. She pulled a small warrior crystal from her box, examined it and its faint blue glow, the same shade of blue that the Mirror glowed, and then stuck it into a small opening on the nape of the statue’s neck.

Using one of her fangs she bit down hard on her pointer finger and then reached under its neck to another, hidden, opening and spread it onto the activation glyph hidden there.

This time the statue shuddered, its eyes glowing the same blue faintly, and some more glow shone from under its neck. A flaw Zanta had never gotten around to fixing. The entire piece was amateur work, nothing like the grand statues that covered and guarded Skifander. She had made it shortly after being gifted, and in the frenzy of that time had quickly grown bored and moved on to other things. Lately she had been using it to explain different terms of command to Zeetha. It was about all it was good for.

But tonight it had a new purpose.

“Vok Niame, Step forward—” Zanta paused for a second to count, two more than it would take for it to reach the glowing surface of the Mirror, 10 then, “10 paces, about turn, return to position, go.”

Stone grounded into stone and slowly, but surprisingly fluidly, it marched forward. Zed and Zedmara watched wide eyed from their perch as the statue hit the Mirror and then kept going. All three of them held their breath once it was gone, and let them out as one as it returned, completely unharmed.

“Where did it go?” Zed asked with interest as it returned to its starting position.

Zanta didn’t respond, just stared at it for a moment and then ordered, “Vok Niame, Step forward 18 paces, wait two minutes, about face, return to starting position, go.”

As it moved to follow her commands, Zanta turned to the two. Her face was soft, with an expression that had both kids groaning.

“It’s time for you to ease your mother’s worries,” Zanta said unaffected. “And get some rest,” she added as Zedmara barely suppressed a yawn. “You can see Zeetha again when she is feeling better.”

The two glanced at each other. They still didn’t understand why they had come here in the first place, let alone why their queen and aunt had made some kind of teleporter out of the Mirror. Leaving Zeetha alone with her, calm, but also still notably mad seemed foolish, but… she was their queen, and their mother would know what the note of hers said and she usually didn’t care that her sister was queen and argued anyway.

They nodded and ran off, hoping to find their mother quick, even if it would mean running into a scolding.

Zanta watched them go, and then leaned over the throne, glancing down at her still sleeping daughter. She wasn’t concerned, a part of her arm had been shattered, and both the elixirs she had been given, one for pain, and one to assure the splintered bone grew back correctly, had a side effect of drowsiness. Zeetha would likely not wake for hours.

Which was good, Zanta would not let her out of her sights, not now, not yet, but the next few hours were sure to get… hectic.

The stature returned, undamaged and on time. She turned it off and took out the warrior crystal, and tucked it away in one of her belt’s pouches. Carefully she gathered her left over gear and hid it off to one side, if Zemar followed directions they would be back in her lab by morning, and nobody would ever know they, or she, had been here.

 She had never gotten a chance to change out of her traveling clothes, which had been amended to save Homan’s sensibilities and for the winter’s air, so as such included a shirt and even a pair of pants. She figured it was proper enough for Europa from what little she knew. Zeetha, she wrapped in a blanket she had thrown into the box earlier, as she was still wearing the standard apprentice garb that Skifander’s enclosed nature allowed of her. She wasn’t sure if it was winter in Europa as it was here, but better careful than surprised.

She strapped on her swords, their vertical hilts notably different from the norm, and glanced back down at her daughter. She paused for a long moment, and then strapped her little swords onto her back as well. Zeetha had earned them; she deserved to wear them, plus any protection that Zanta could offer her she would.

She turned, Zeetha in her arms, and frowned at the glowing Mirror. Civics Queen Tara would be frustrated and perhaps angry if she found out she had done this without warning or consul, but reasonable all the same. High Priestess Maru would snarl and threaten and try and make out that the Mirror was of some religious symbol that she had no right to touch.

Luhia had been Skifander’s first Queen. All three families descended from her, but the War Family was the closest, and for a long time, the only. Only for the last thousand years had there been three. She had more claim to the Mirror then Maru could ever hope for.

That thought made her lip curl in delight and she squared her shoulders and walked forward.

When the light touched her skin she felt nothing, and there was only a brief flash before she found herself standing in a very red room. Zanta scanned it for enemies but found none, and then turned back to the portal. It was different, but only by minute differences, to the Mirror back home. The controls, at least, were the same, though the configuration of them was different. Set, she knew, not to here, but to the Mirror in Skifander.

She had prepared for this and carefully pulled out a square piece of paper, several layers thick, including one of dried ink, and spotting another glyph of her own making. Carefully she held the warriors crystal to the back of the paper, and held it up so it faced the controls for the portal. She pushed. Her hair on her arm stood on end, and it took more effort than she would have liked to work, as it did in the Dark Countries, but it did.

She now had a sketched replica of the exact positions she would need to set everything to return, as well as a depleted warrior crystal that wouldn’t be able to do anything more until she could have it recharged. She tucked both of those back into her pouch, and with a few flicks from what she knew of Skifander’s portal, it dimmed and darkened.

Satisfied Zanta turned away. Hopefully nobody would notice she was gone, let alone that she used the Mirror.

She snuck her way through the red palace. Years of being a Princess Hunter led to years of stealth, and it wasn’t too hard to sneak past the few people who patrolled the halls, or the strange creations of old flesh and bandages that she saw.

She stepped out onto a balcony and shivered as the cold snapped at her. She looked around to find snow drifting lazily through the sky, but not fast enough to hide the heavily packed town, or the dark castle that loomed from above on a tall, spiny, mountain.

Zanta tightened the blanket around Zeetha and bit at her lip. It was far colder than she had expected and she wished she hadn’t thrown her traveling cloak away as she rushed to her daughter’s side. Still, it was too late for that now, and she jumped from the balcony into the snow drifts below.

Zanta winced as some snow sunk into her boots and she kicked what she could off as she stepped onto the much less covered cobble street. She made it three steps before she stopped in her tracks. The bite of the air and snow must have jolted her senses since it suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea what to do next.

She stared at the ground and bit her lip hard enough to taste iron. She had let the gift quietly take over her without realizing it, and here she was, far from home. She had dragged her injured daughter through an ill tested portal into a completely unknown world, with unknown dangers. She didn’t even know if she was actually in Europa. Chump and his friends had often traveled she knew. let alone where one person may be.

Zanta could feel her anger build up again and took a deep breath, filtering it out as best she could. No. That’s how this started. She was already here. She may as well finish it. Chump was just one man and she knew little of his Europa, but she did know his parents had run a town somewhere. She couldn’t remember what it was called, Chump had only told her once, but a town run by Wulfenbachs couldn’t be too hard to find. It was a big city, surely someone would know of it—

“Hey Lady, you alright!” a voice called from behind her in Romanian. Good, at least she was sure she was in Europa then. Zanta turned to find a group of soldiers marching up the street. Well, marching was a loose term for it, but they were definitely on a patrol. “It’s late and you’re pretty far from the tourist district, you lost?” The soldier in the lead seemed rather concerned, even more so as she spotted Zeetha in Zanta’s arms.

Zanta’s eyes widened as they got close enough for her to see the emblems on their hats with clarity through the snow and dark. The wings were new, but she recognized the tower. The first time she had met him he had worn a choker with it, and years later, after his return, she had created him one for him to wear so he wouldn’t feel so homesick. It had been one of the few things he had taken with him, along with the sword she had given him when he graduated into a warrior.

“I need to speak to Chump,” she told the soldier formerly and suddenly, head held high in the most regal way she knew how, even as she shifted her sleeping daughter on her hip, her little swords clinking on her back. Had she actually landed in Chump’s hometown? She didn’t remember him ever mentioning a red or black palace.

The soldier in front of her blinked. The one next to her snickered. “Will any chump do, or you looking for a specific one?” Most of the other soldiers snickered, save the leader and the one standing right next to him. That soldier dragged his sleepy expressions over to him in an unimpressed glance.

Zanta wasn’t amused, and her tone showed it, stopping all laughter in its track. “You would likely know him as Klaus Wulfenbach.” There was a long pause, she nodded. “You _do_ know him. I will see him at once.”

Something about her tone and the way she stood made them not only believe her, but rush to do as she said. It wasn’t mind control, just a sheer royal (and a maybe a little madgirl) presence that forced them into action. It wasn’t long before she was on strange flying ship, one normally for supply she could tell, and on her way to “the Baron’s flying castle.” Just what _was_ Chump doing, she wondered briefly, before deciding she didn’t care, not yet.

 

In hindsight, Klaus’ first reaction, when opening his door to find Zanta glaring at him from his desk, probably shouldn’t have been to blurt out, “you cut your hair!?”

It should have been something like: “Why are you here?” or “How are you here?” or even just a surprised “Zanta!!” Anything else would have been better.

Zanta’s piercing stare narrowed. “I fixed the Mirror.”

Well… that at least answered one of his should-have-been questions.

“You sit down,” she continued. “We need to speak.”

For the first time in a long time Klaus swallowed back nerves and nodded obediently.


	2. Klaus Has a Bad Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus and Zanta have a talk. Things are said, nothing is fixed... but maybe, just maybe they can be.

She didn’t even let him sit in his own chair. Her piercing gaze was set on the chair in front of her. Said chair was purposefully several centimeters shorter than his, to enhance his already great ability to glare down on people. Zanta hadn’t even bothered with a chair, perched on his desk and even some of his paperwork. Even with his great bulk she would, if only by a little, loom over him.

Part of him bristled. This was his airship, his Empire, he would sit below no one, but that was washed away by the fact Zanta was here. His wife, whom he had missed greatly, and who he still dreamt about at a frequency that he found himself avoiding sleep.

Klaus sat down, with extra formality in his movements because he knew a fight was coming, knew she was going to play the Zumil card, _knew_ he was in the _right_ —He paused, as he realized Zanta hadn’t just been huddled under a blanket to warm up, a fair thought, she certainly wasn’t dressed for a Romanian winter, but was instead holding a small form to her chest.

He plopped the rest of the way into his chair. For a long moment he would have sworn Zanta must of had another child since he had been away. Surly that tiny figure couldn’t be his baby girl; she would be eight, almost nine now, this child looked six at most.

But then Zanta shifted her weight and the blanket fell, showing him a shock of the child’s green hair. It was a spiky mess that no Skifandrian father would give her, and so similar to the spikes that had given her the baby name Ba’in, Spiky.

He stared for a moment longer, then slowly lifted his gaze to Zanta. Her expression hadn’t softened, but she had let him stare as long as he needed at his—the girl. A calculated move he admitted as he shifted back and met her gaze, he was already off centered.

Zanta, now that she had his full attention, forced herself to not bite her lip as she thought through her options. She had so many questions. Why did you leave? Why did you steal my son? Why did you not tell me? What did you not tell me? What in Ashtara’s steel are you even doing up on this floating deathtrap?

She started simple, but important. “Our son?”

Klaus pressed his lips together. “Safe.”

Zanta narrowed her eyes. She was _not_ taking any of his paranoid avoidance bullshit. “Here?”

“Close.”

That was the truth. The school was only a floor below. He had made sure of that. So it would be easy for him to get to his son in the case of emergency. All his most common haunts: his labs, his quarters, they were all close to the school in some way, if spread out from each other.

Zanta fought with herself, whether to challenge him, to force him to take her to her baby, but no. She would only wake him and perhaps scare him. Another thought hit her and this time she couldn’t stop her eyes from slipping from Klaus’ crooked nose. “…His name?”

It had bothered her all this time that she didn’t know how to properly refer to her child. What name to ask for blessing of protection and safety and health for? She had a name, Gimesh, that she called him in her deepest thoughts, the name she had wanted to name him, after a twin who had received no scorn, but she had no idea if that was right. Then there was his baby name, Demor, surprise one, but it didn’t feel right to call her child such a name in a blessing.

All at once Klaus softened but also looked uncomfortable. “Gilgamesh.” He finally said. “It was the…equivalent… I thought it would stand out less.”

“Ah.” So she had been wrong. Gilgamesh, she mouthed once, trying it out. An extra letter and an extra syllable, but similar. Not Skifandrian sounding for sure… but there was nothing _wrong_ with that. She had asked Klaus about names from his home, their children were ones of two different cultures after all. It would be difficult to inscribe with Skifander’s horrid script, but that wouldn’t be new.

She wondered what he looked like. He had the slightest fuzz of patchy light bronze the last she had seen of him, was it the same now? Had it darkened over the years? Had his eyes changed color like Zeetha’s had from baby blue to her copper, or perhaps closer to his father’s steel?

There was a heavy knock at the door. Klaus glanced behind him, and then back at Zanta. Zanta huffed, but got up from her perch, she was rational enough to know she had no idea what was going on in this world, and that it would be foolish to risk Klaus’ position, whatever it may be, until she did.

Klaus opened the door. A soldier stood there.

“Herr Baron, Sir, there’s this green-haired woman with a child demanding to see you…” He trailed off as he caught sight of Zanta over Klaus shoulder.

“Yes.” Klaus said levelly. “I am aware.”

The Soldier gaped.

“Is that all, Private?”

“Ah, yes sir.”

“Then you’re dismissed.”

“Uh… yes sir.”

“Oh, and tell the leader of the crew that brought her up that I want to see him tomorrow, at o-800 hours.”

The man gulped. “Yes sir.”

The man fled. Klaus closed the door. He turned and found Zanta staring at him with curiosity.

“What is all this Klaus?” she asked as Klaus took advantage and sat down in his own chair. She snorted humorlessly at him in return. “You didn’t tell me your home flew?”

She walked back over the desk and rather pointedly sat herself up on the corner of his desk again. It gave her just enough height to stare at him straight on. “You said your parents ruled over a small town, this is more than a small town.”

 Her tone had the slightest hint of accusation in it, of broken trust, of lying, and Klaus lip curled.

“My parents are dead,” he snapped. Zanta jerked back in surprise, her body twisting to shield Zeetha automatically. Klaus caught himself before he could continue and lowered his voice minutely. “They died days before I returned. Killed in an attack by the Other—”

“Other?”

“I don’t know who they are, nobody does. They disappeared at the same time as Bill and Barry did, before my return,” his voice cracked slightly and Zanta suddenly remembered the names of the other two boys who had journeyed to Skifander. Her face softened, even as Klaus’ hardened.

“And as soon as they were gone, all they had worked for, a little peace, a little decency, it _shattered_.”

He glared down at his desk for a moment. Zanta watched warily as the gift, the Spark as he called it, fizzed at his edges.

“The entire continent was a war with each other. Everything was destroyed. My town was nothing but rubble. The few of my people who survived were scattered. My friends were just _gone_ ,” he growled. “I brought our son here to be _safe_. It wasn’t safe. So I made it safe. _My way!_ ”

Klaus slammed his fist down. The heavy wooden desk rattled from the force of the blow, several stacks of paperwork fell off. Zanta stared at him unimpressed.

Zeetha made a sound. Both adults froze. She shifted in her blanket, and blinked blearily, first at Klaus, and then at her mother. “Ko,” she slurred in Skiff. “Where are we?”

Zanta stared down at her evenly. “Europa.”

Zeetha blinked once, then twice. “Ka,” she yawned and snuggled her face back into her mother’s shoulder.

For a moment the two stood perfectly still, and then Klaus blurted out, “Is she alright?”

Zanta stared at him for a long moment, studying him, judging him, and then shifted Zeetha around so he could see her arm. Even from this distance he could see that it was slightly swelled, and wrapped tightly in stiff bandages.

“Part of her arm is shattered,” Zanta said before he could begin his own diagnosis. “She is on an esemar and a satoft-tokan, they both cause drowsiness. She is fine. It will heal fine.”

She was hurt. His daughter was hurt. Could he help? Skifandrian medicine was good if orthodox, and he couldn’t know what a mix would do, but—Klaus caught himself and reeled back his thoughts at hand. He couldn’t do this to himself. He forced his eyes from her arm and back to Zanta.

She rolled her eyes at him and slipped off the desk to gently set the girl into one of the two chairs. He watched as she recovered her with the blanket and tucked it around her shoulders. Then he sighed.

“I apologize… I’ve had to defend myself too much these last few months.”

Zanta sat down, on a chair for once. Her face was soft but firm. “I am… sorry that you parents have passed.” She started slowly. She bit her lip as she thought her next words through, an action that Klaus found heart-wrenchingly familiar. “I am sorry that I will never meet them, nor will our children.”

Klaus blinked. “Is that why you are here?” He asked. “To just… just see us, Gil.” His voice showed what he thought of that: dangerous, risky, stupid. His face, briefly, also told her, touched and maybe even longing.

“Uh…no,” she admitted. That had not been going through her mind she was sure. She almost wished it had though. It would have been a very good reason and she didn’t appreciate his disapproval or it. Gilgamesh (It still felt strange but not as much as before) was her son. She had a right to see him. She had the right to fight to see him if need be.

“Did you do all this just to question me then,” Klaus continued. He paused and thought back to her piercing stare. He knew it well. He had seen plenty of people receive it as she did her duty on the throne, Skifandrian or ambassadors, it didn’t matter. “Yell at me?” The fact that the cards had fallen just right that she hadn’t gotten the chance he considered a blessing. She didn’t argue fair.

Zanta slouched down in her chair, her feet stretching out, for a moment looking all the teenager she was not and hadn’t been in so very long. “Maybe…” She switched over to Skiff, exhaustion hitting her horribly. “I was mad, alright. I was so tired, so… _angry_. In the past week I have dealt with the Homans trying to convince me to help in a genocide. Then I came home to find out my child had been attacked and was injured.”

Klaus’ breath caught. His eyes snapped over to his daughter, her broken arm… and her swords. A panicky feeling deep in his belly struck him, like it had at the threats, like it had constantly as he battled across the world to get to a shattered home, a tiny defenseless infant in his arms.

Klaus tried to interrupt. Zanta didn’t let him and continued with force. “I _found_ her and could tell she had cried herself to sleep. I had the honor of giving her, her swords, so young, and then had to rush to find her again after she disappeared hours later.

“She was sobbing under a staircase, her swords stolen by _novices_ who should know _better_. She tells me what they told her… I don’t ever want to repeat it, and then, as she’s falling asleep, she tells me, ‘I wish I had a father,’ and I can’t even truly tell her she _does_.”

She saw Klaus flinch through her eyelashes and found some bitter satisfaction in it.

“I was _furious_ , I went mad and stayed that way for _hours_ , you were on my mind… and this happened.” She flung her arms up into the air and then let them droop. “By the time I snapped out of it fully I was here and I figured I may as well try to finish it.”

“She was _attacked?_ ”

Zanta’s regality snapped back and she pushed herself up, sitting tall. “Did it _ever_ occur to _you_ that by assuring the _safety_ of _one_ , you were leaving the _other_ one _exposed?_ ” She sneered. No madness lit her tone, just pure, clean anger. “That the people of Skifander wouldn’t _care_ about the distance between them, that they are still—” she snarled out the next word as if it was poison, “ _Notwan_ , and treat them as such.”

She gripped the armrest is a frantic attempt to keep herself from springing up in fury. “You feared chase so much that you changed his name, but it never occurred to you that they would simply go after the closer target. Your daughter, _Zeetha_.” She threw out her daughter’s name and smirked in dark satisfaction as he jolted. Zeetha, the name he had picked out, the name she had still blessed her daughter with despite all he had done.

“You let your own paranoia and thick-headedness convince you that of _course_ the first idea that popped into your head had to be right. The first plan you made the best. That you didn’t _need_ to talk to anyone, let alone someone who understood Skifander, your own _Bonded_ , before you went and did it!”

“You would have _stopped_ me!”

“You don’t _know_ that! Maybe I would have _joined_ you, have you ever thought of that? Maybe I would have _agreed_! Maybe I would have _stopped_ you and it would have been for the _best!_ I would have liked the _option!_ ”

He collected himself quickly and snarled back. “The _best!_ She was just nearly assassinated and you say it’s for the _best!_ ”

“I highly doubt Gilgamesh being there would have made things _worse!_ ” Zanta shouted back, only to cover her mouth as Zeetha pushed herself up from the back of her chair.

“Ni bak!” She yelped out in the way only a small child, who was very uncomfortable and horribly exhausted can, and then collapsed back into the chair, pulling the blanket up and over her head.

Zanta waited for another moment and then collapsed back herself. She was running on far too many borrowed days, she needed true sleep. “I’m not saying it would have been _nice_.” She muttered into a hand. “Or _fair_. I don’t wish our children any of that, either of them, but together we had a _chance_ to make things better. To give our children a world that they _deserved_.”

Her hand dropped and she stared at it, and the smooth scar on its back. “You running— all it did was become fodder for the naysayers, not to mention how I almost started a civil war because of you—”

Klaus’ head shot up. “What did _I_ do?”

Zanta gave him a deadpanned stare. “You stole my son from the nursery but left your letter in our bedroom. I was worried that they had missed a meal and checked on them. I didn’t enter my bedroom for another three days and only then because Nod forced me. By then I had mobilized the forces and made some _very_ embarrassing statements and threats. I nearly _lost_ my queenship from it.”

“Ah,” was all Klaus could say and he admitted internally that perhaps he hadn’t thought that part of the plan through very well.

Zanta snorted and looked back down at her daughter. Her small form covered in the blanket, the only thing showing was her arm with the cast—

A wall inside her crumbled.

“I almost lost her,” she muttered so quietly Klaus wasn’t sure he had heard her right. “She almost _died_ , Chump, and I wasn’t _there!_ ” Her voice grew louder but didn’t hit loud, still low and soft, as she reached over to rest a hand on her daughter’s form. To feel her breath. “I wasn’t there.” Her voice cracked and something deep inside of Klaus pained horribly by it. He had never heard Zanta like this, not even after her mother had asked her which body she would kill, the boy the obvious choice, but the girl so small.

She turned to look at him and Klaus recoiled when he realized she was crying. “But… but you could have been Chump. You _should_ have been.”

“Zanta… I—”

“But you _weren’t_ Chump, and she almost _died_.” Zanta bowed her head, guilt eating into her like no wound she had ever faced. “I wasn’t there Chump, I couldn’t be. Being queen drags me away, sometimes for weeks, months if a war starts. To places a small child should never venture.”

Her fingers clutched into the leather of the seat as she desperately tried to keep her voice level and low. Zeetha could not hear this, she would _not_ give her daughter another set of nightmares, but she desperately needed to get this out. “But I have no _choice_. If I were to step down I can’t control who takes my place. Maru will rig it. She will not accept the War family and the Civics family allying like me and Tara has done. She will not accept being ever so slightly marginalized again.

“She will find someone, who for the _greater good_ , will demand Zeetha’s _death_ and I will have no power to stop it. We would be on the run, and we would have nowhere to go. The Dark Countries would not give us shelter. She will use me stepping down as an example of what horror twins can cause. Hundred more children will die in proceeding generations because of that.”

Her hair was shadowing her face, Klaus couldn’t see her expression and from her tone of voice, he considered that a small mercy.

“I can’t be there for her, not always. Being queen gives me the ability to protect her but in return I am unable to protect her when she really needs it. I’m a horrible mother for it—”

“Zanta, _no_ —”

“But I _can’t._ Nod, and Zemar, and Zoni—they try and fill in the blanks but they have their own duties, their own lives, their own families.

“And I’m just, so _tired_ ,” She finally admitted. “So _tired_.”

“Zanta,” Klaus said softly after a long moment. His eyes strayed over to Zeetha and this time he couldn’t pull them away again. Her body covered in the blanket, only her casted arm sticking out, it was almost like a—

The thought died, from the sheer horror of it, instead of from his own stubbornness. He swallowed and forced his gaze back to Zanta. She wasn’t dead. She was alive. He told himself several times just to get his mind back on track. His daughter, _Zeetha_ , was alive, he allowed when it failed.

“Zanta, I’m _sorry_.” He finally finished, looking down. He found himself looking at his own bonding scar, so noticeable to him, but drowned out by the legions of other scars his body held. “But I didn’t just _leave_ because of a _few_ rumors.”

Zanta’s head lifted slightly. She was watching him through her hair he was sure, he continued.

“A week before everything…” He paused trying to gather his words. “I was kidnapped, by the Priestesses’, He admitted. “They drugged me, a dart I think, while I was running laps through the War district.” He had used to do that, when he really needed to think. It had been the first time since the twins had been born. Zanta had practically kicked him out to get rid of his hovering. “I woke up… I’m not sure, but I’m assuming somewhere in their palace.”

Zanta was staring at him, or well, through him. To his relief the fury on her face was obviously not for him. “They _dared_.” Zanta seethed. Her focus snapped back onto him “What did they _do?_ ”

“I couldn’t move right, they had dosed me with something else that made my body tremble and left me with nothing but shaky gross movement. I… don’t know who was there, they were all shadowed, but I have my suspicions…”

“Maru,” she growled. It wasn’t a question.

Klaus nodded. “She…threatened our children, both of them. She gave me an ultimatum… that either one of them would die… or I would disappear with one of them and not return.”

Zanta made a face he couldn’t read: Fury, disbelief, concern, and so many others.

“Or else she would have them both killed,” Klaus continued unable to hide the anger in voice. The panicky feeling returned just as it had been that day. “Me as well, that she would call upon the people and bring you to ruin.” Klaus couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “So I did what I had to do in order to keep our children, all of us, safe.”

It was quiet.

“Did it ever occur to you that _may_ have been a bluff? That she didn’t have the power to so easily go through with her threat.” Zanta finally responded after a long moment. Her voice was carefully flat and Klaus couldn’t decipher her response from it. Glancing up at her just led to an equally blank face.

“I was not about to risk our children’s safety on what may be a bluff, Zantabraxus.”

“Then why didn’t you _ask_ me?” She asked. Her careful faced collapsing, hurt seeping in. Klaus winced. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“She said I couldn’t. If I—”

“I don’t _care_ what she said, Chump.” Ah, this time the anger was very much at him, he winced. “Someone _threatened_ our _children_ , threatened _you_ , and you didn’t tell _me!_ ”

“I was trying to protect you!”

“I’m your _bonded_ , Chump, we are supposed to communicate and work _together_.” Klaus had to look away from her hurt look. “That is the agreement. Protecting our family is _not_ your job alone. How to _do_ it is _not_ your decision alone.”

She was glaring at him, he could tell even though he continued to stare down.

“Together, informed, we could have worked together, but instead you made the decision alone, on something you didn’t fully understand.” She continued her voice hoarse with feeling. “You didn’t tell me because I would stop you,” she quoted his earlier words. Klaus winced, those had been a mistake. “You knew I wouldn’t have just followed along… so you just cut me out of it…”

A silence stretched on. Klaus couldn’t bring himself to break it.

“You should have told me. You should have come to me. We should have figured this out together.”

Klaus swallowed, the hurt in her voice was physically painful. He had always known he would, hopefully, have to beg for her forgiveness one day, though he had never thought it would be so soon.

“I…” he swallowed again. “I’m sorry Zanta…perhaps I should have told you but… things are the way they are.” He reached out a hand, a peace offering. “We need to figure out what’s going to happen now.”

Zanta stared at it. Him being confused about Skifander views and customs. Him being confused about how the Skifandrian people would react. Him making bad decisions, alone, off of those wrong assumptions. That was one thing. It could just as easily have been subconscious as conscious. But being openly threatened, having her children be openly threatened, and not saying a word to her. Not only leaving her, but leaving her in the dark. That was an entirely different thing.

She wanted to, but she didn’t take his hand. One day perhaps, but not tonight. “Not now, Klaus.”

He closed his hand on empty air and tried to decide if her calling him Klaus instead of Chump was a good or a bad sign.

“But you’re right; we need to figure out what happens next, but… I have to return, so next time.” She frowned up at him. “And there _will_ be a next time.” She paused. “I would like to see my son first though.”

Klaus forced himself not to swallow again and looked sheepish. “There is a small problem with that….”

 

Zanta was steaming. Klaus was certain of that as he led her through the narrow passages in-between the walls of Castle Wulfenbach. He could tell just by the rising hairs of his neck. He moved quickly, afraid that any second now she might blow.

He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or not by how she had taken his hurried explanation. He had expected screaming, yelling, perhaps some physical violence or spark-fueled madness. He had expected her piercing glare she had hit him with, but not the working of her jaw as she tried to find something to say, or the cool clipped demand to see her son, now, that followed.

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. He had a feeling she was angrier at him now than she had been as he had opened his office door. It wasn’t _fair_. Didn’t she understand that he was just trying to protect their son? It wasn’t as if Gil was alone. Klaus had hired enough nurses and nannies to be able to tend to him around the clock, he had the best protector Klaus could find, and there were plenty of students for him to socialize with.

Granted that hadn’t gone as well as Klaus had hoped, but Gil had stopped going to the nurses about complaints of bullying so it must be getting better. And if not, well, if Gil thought he could deal with it on his own, Klaus wasn’t about to interfere. It would be good for him to learn how to deal with bigshots and bullies now, it would help him in the future when he had to deal with nobles and Sparks.

Plus Klaus still saw him on occasion. Sure he didn’t know who Klaus was to him, but he still saw him, that had to count for something.

“Here,” Klaus whispered. His voice was barely audible. Normally when he came down here he sprayed the room in a mild form of c-gas so Gil wouldn’t wake, but he didn’t think Zanta would be impressed by it… or happy.

Zanta glanced at the panel. “You have a secret passage into his bedroom?”

“In case of emergencies.” Klaus explained. It was true, that was one of the reasons it existed. As for the other reasons he had it installed, well, she didn’t need to know about that right now. She probably wouldn’t improve, even though it was _entirely_ to assure his safety.

Klaus opened the small slide panel. It was a bit high on the wall, built for his eyes alone, and had been reasonably hidden even on this side. Zanta had to stretch up onto her tip-toes to look.

She was tolerating this mess only for her son’s sake. Klaus had been right about one thing, she risked freaking out her boy if she ran in and pulled him from his sleep, especially if he didn’t even realize he had a father, let alone a queen of a mother, and a twin sister. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair, to give him a family only to pull away so quickly, she truly did need to return to Skifander, and soon. It could wait until next time.

She peaked in and spotted two boys on the single bed, fast asleep. One was taller and reedy with blood-red hair, but the other had to be her son, shorter and stockier, with a tangle of bronze hair. She stared at the shadowed form for a long moment, even though all she could see was the back of his head, and then something strange about the picture hit her.

“Why does he and his roommate only have one bed?” she asked, frowning. It seemed unnecessary, and the bed seemed too small anyway to be meant for sharing.

“What?” Gilgamesh doesn’t have a roommate?” He peaked in himself and his face darkened instantly. “ _Sturmvoraus_.”

Zanta stared dully at him. The way he had said the name sounded as if he was speaking of his greatest rival… who so happened to be eight or so years old.

“Sturmvoraus?”

“A… _boy_ Gilgamesh has recently become friends with,” Klaus said stiffly. Zanta raised an eyebrow at him and then shook her head in something that would have been bemusement if lingering irritation hadn’t still simmered inside her. “Why would they even share a room when they both have their own?”

“Why not? I used to bunk with Nod, or even Zemar all the time, it was fun.” Klaus considered this, for a second a look on longing passed over his face, and then it was gone. There was nothing he could do to get his childhood back, though he couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever done the same with Gilligan and Nikolai.

“But why _him?_ ”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“His _family_ is a nest of _vipers_.”

Zanta glanced one more time through the peephole at the boy her son was apparently very good friends with, and then slid the slide shut. “And he is eight, and here instead of there.”

Klaus didn’t bother arguing, it was a loss cause. Zanta didn’t have a clue how things works in Europa. He began leading her out.

“I _will_ be back.” Zanta stated as fact after several cramped halls, a ladder, and a seemingly rickety but surprisingly stable catwalk had gone by. “And next time I _will_ be seeing my son, and I _will_ be telling him who I, and _he_ is.”

Klaus held open a secret door back into the main hall for her. She stopped halfway through to give him a stern look. “And I would suggest _you_ do the same.”

“It’s safer he doesn’t know.”

Zanta sighed heavily. “ _Fine._ We’ll talk about it later.” She turned to glance around her. They were in a hanger, a small airship already ready to bring her back down; a skeleton crew as well as the Mechanicsburg soldiers looked over confusedly, one blond soldiers scrambling to hide a pipe. “Two days Klaus, I’ll be back in two days. Be ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for now. I'll probably pick up this thread later, but for now I really don't have the time.
> 
> Skiff Glossary:  
> Ba'in: Pretty much means Spiky (Actual Spiky would be Ba'gin as in Spike-like). Zeetha's baby name thanks to a full head of Wulfenbach hair at birth.  
> Gimesh: The equivalent name to Gilgamesh. In Skifander's version of Gilgamesh Epic, Gimesh and Enkin are implied to be twins. In older version this is out right stated. To say the least the story isn't very popular or common.  
> Demor: Surprise one. Gil's baby name do to being the second twin.  
> Ka: Slang for yes but also can mean OK. Comes from Kar (yes).  
> Ko: Mamma or mom. Comes from Kola (Mother), related to Kolee.  
> esemar: An elixir used to patch up bones.  
> Satoft-tokan: Literally means Pain Warriors. Pain killers.  
> Ni bak: Slang for shut up. Other variations include Bakni and Bakeni. Ni Baken, the proper way to say it, means Be Quite.
> 
>  
> 
> Skifander's horrid Script: A couple centuries ago it was agreed that Skifander's old Syllabary was outdated. Skifander had gained a much larger sound inventory since it's creation. So it was figured best for a new one to be made. Unfortunately an idiot was given the job. The new abugida is made up almost entirely of triangles, which while pretty makes it kind of tricky to learn and slow to write, and also still doesn't fully cover all it needs too, meaning some words can't be transcribed correctly.

**Author's Note:**

> [Link to the "cover" of this story.](http://han100894.tumblr.com/post/139362957149/the-first-chapter-of-the-results-of-a-bad-week)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Skiff Glossary:  
> 1\. Zumil: A little like student, a little like effect, a lot like knife.  
> 2\. Zumi: Daughter  
> 3\. Indim: Idiot, Moron, Dork: (A rather slight insult, can be used almost affectionately depending on tone.)  
> 4\. Notwan: A slur for a twin whose other is still alive. Skifander does not have a normal word for twin. the closest is a description, somewhat like "Sibling born the same time as I to the same mother." Only counts towards full siblings. Half siblings, even those born to the same mother, are not consider notwans.  
> 5\. D'jorok'ku: Sword-Master/Sword-Mistress. Pronounced D'yorok'ku, like how Jager is pronounced Yager.  
> 6\. Lukan: Loosely religion. Descriptive term to describe the High Priestess duties and family.  
> 7\. Vok Niama: That Statue. Basic call to refer and command any living statues. Most other also have personal names, this one doesn't since Breakthrough Zanta didn't care enough.


End file.
